


A Terrible Spy: The Italian Affair

by Cicerothewriter



Series: A Terrible Spy [3]
Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Episode Related, Espionage, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicerothewriter/pseuds/Cicerothewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hastings becomes involved in the affairs of the Italian Embassy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Terrible Spy: The Italian Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Series: _A Terrible Spy_. Set after _Cedric das Krokodil_. It's necessary that you read at least _A Terrible Spy_ before you read this.
> 
> Note 1: Part of this story is set during and after _The Case of the Italian Nobleman_ , and is inspired by this episode.

He waited until the two had departed from the Italian embassy before turning on the radio. He tuned it to a secured frequency and then sent the following message in code:

_Agent 224 visited in his English guise. Unknown agenda. Responsible for deaths of two agents and loss of vital information. Please advise._

Within five minutes the following message was returned:

_Attempt to ascertain current assignment. Eliminate if possible without raising suspicions. No benefit if he were found to be a spy._

He nodded, and delivered the message to a hidden room in the embassy.

******

I had always felt a secret thrill when my espionage activities merged in some way with Poirot's cases. During the investigation of the murder of Count Foscatini, my knowledge of the Italians gave me an insight which Poirot did not possess. The German government knew about Vizzini's anti-fascist business dealings, and were interested to learn more, although whether to punish Vizzini or to use Vizzini against the current Italian government I was unaware. I was only too happy to purchase my car from Vizzini because I sympathized with his anti-fascist sentiments.

At the time of this investigation, I was not engaged on an assignment. This suited me fine because I had reached the age where I wanted nothing more than to sit by Poirot's side, drink some coffee or port, and while away the hours in his company. And although I would have been pleased to obtain the papers which Ascanio had in his possession, I had not been ordered to do so. This led me to believe that whatever he possessed was of little importance. Of course, I could not tell Poirot any of my suppositions.

Poirot and I were just leaving the Italian Embassy when I noticed that we were being followed. I was not sure why the man was following us. Was it because of the case or because of my hidden profession? I vowed to remain vigilant regardless of the reasons. Ultimately the man wished to tell us about Ascanio and his visit to the embassy. I let my guard drop as the mystery had been solved, and I put the Italian affair behind me.

Or, at least, that was what I thought I had done.

 

Nearly a month had passed, and both Poirot and I were involved in a case situated in the country. Poirot instructed me to wait the landlady's return, and after asking her the list of questions which Poirot left with me, follow him to the inn at which we were staying. I did as he instructed. She was late returning, and so it was nearly dusk when I finally set out for the inn. Soon I discovered that I had a flat in the left front tire of my car. I stopped, and bent down to inspect the damage. I could not see the puncture, and when I inched forward to look behind the tire, I felt a heavy blow to the back of my head.

When I awoke, I was lying on the ground in the forest, my cheek and stomach pressed against the damp ground. My hands were tied behind my back, and my legs tied together. My ears rang from the blow, and I felt nauseous. My overcoat, jacket, and waistcoat had been removed, and the man who had hit me was just cutting the lining on the waistcoat.

"You won't find anything," I said, startling him. "I carry very little money with me when I travel."

"I am not looking for money, Agent 224," he replied, his heavy accent telling me that his country of origin was Italy.

I knew that I was in a bad way. While I am sure that Poirot was awaiting my return, he would not begin to worry about me until I did not return tonight. By then I would be dead.

"What are you looking for then?" I asked.

I did not expect him to tell me, and so I was surprised when he answered, "Your current assignment."

"You're out of luck," I replied. "I haven't an assignment."

"Why were you at the embassy?" he asked.

"Oh, that," I replied. "Police business. Nothing to do with spies."

He nodded, and dropped my by now shredded waistcoat. I wondered if I had convinced him, and was told otherwise when he landed a solid kick to my stomach. I cried out, curling in on myself. Several more blows followed before he relented, standing over me.

"You killed two of our agents."

"Only one…" I gasped, and was rewarded for my honesty with another kick to my side. I was now lying on my back, hands uncomfortable between my body and the ground.

"You were _responsible_ for the death of two agents, and you stole information that we needed. You have been a troublesome thorn, German filth, and I have been sent to kill you."

"Aren't you going to ask me more questions?" I said, trying to stall him.

He pulled from his jacket a revolver, but before he could aim it at me, I swung my legs up and kicked at him, aiming for his face. I hit his upper chest, knocking him back; however, the pain from my movements was so great that I nearly blacked out.

I sat up, and struggled to my feet, intending to fight him as best I could. The gun was lost in the leaves, and while I saw where it had fallen, he did not. Rather than attempt to find his gun, he swung his right arm and hit me in the shoulder. I fell once more onto my back, the pain almost unbearable. I did not give him time to gloat before I kicked out with both feet and struck him in the face. He began to bleed profusely from his nose.

I was panting heavily from the pain, dizzy and confused, but I was determined not to let him win. What would Poirot think if he were to find me here the next morning, cold and lifeless?

Before I could plan my next move, I heard Poirot call my name, quickly followed by Japp's lower voice. How had they found me? For a moment I was terrified that they would discover my secret when they rescued me, and I almost wished that the Italian had been successful.

I watched the Italian stand and run in the opposite direction, pleased at least that he had failed in his mission.

"Hastings? Hastings, _mon ami_!" Poirot cried out as he ran to me. His dark eyes were frantic and full of glorious emotion. He crouched beside me, and his hands clutched my arms, which drug from me a hiss of pain. "What happened?" he cried.

Japp knelt on my other side, and I could see his alarm. "What happened, captain?" Japp asked.

"Car blew a tire," I said, panting heavily. "When I went to take a look, someone attacked me. I think he was looking for money." I nodded over at the pile of clothing.

"Which way did he run?" Japp asked, and at my nod he ran off after the man.

Poirot's hands were trembling as he removed the rope from my wrists and my feet. I curled toward him, trying to sooth the deep throb in my stomach. Poirot's hand rested on my back, making delicate circular motions that were soothing.

"What did he do?" Poirot asked.

"Kicked me," I replied. I wished that I could rest my head in his lap and forget what had just happened. My irrational heart told me that Poirot would protect me now that he was there.

Poirot muttered a vicious curse. His attention was caught by something; he reached forward, and to my surprise stroked my hair.

" _Sacre_!" he cried, looking into my eyes. "He hit you as well."

"Oh yes," I replied. "He hit me over the head first. A tire iron, I think."

Poirot hissed with frustration, and then called out to Japp, "Chief Inspector! The good captain needs a doctor!"

Poirot removed his hands from my hair, and I could see blood on his gloved fingers.

"How did you find me?" I asked. Poirot was once more rubbing my shoulder, and I admired the strength in his grip.

"I wished to take one more look at the shop, _mon ami_ ," he replied. "Thank the good god that I did."

I hummed softly in response. I could hear Poirot speak to me, but I could not understand the words. I closed my eyes, trusting my life to him.

 

When I next woke, I was in our room at the inn. I was drugged, and while I disliked the grogginess, I appreciated the lack of pain.

Time must have passed because when I next opened my eyes, Poirot was seated next to me. His hand was in mine, and he was holding it tightly.

"Poirot?" I asked, coughing a bit.

He helped me to drink some water before answering. "Hastings, you are finally awake."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Two days."

"Oh," I replied, blinking in an attempt to clear my head.

"We have not found your attacker," Poirot said, sounding ashamed.

I patted his hand in commiseration, although I was relieved by his words. If they had caught the Italian spy, then the game would be up.

"He's probably long gone by now, Poirot," I replied. "Just an opportunistic criminal."

Poirot seemed unconvinced.

 

Japp returned while the doctor was attending to me, and so they stood outside of my bedroom and discussed the case.

"I asked if there were any strangers in town," Japp said. "Several mentioned an Italian gentleman."

"An Italian?" Poirot said, surprised.

"Yes, a dark-haired Italian, about six feet tall. He asked for directions, purchased some food and a knife, and departed – all on the day of the murder."

"You think that he is Hastings' assailant?"

"Perhaps. We'll have to get the captain's description." I heard a pause, and then Japp added, "Seems an odd coincidence, doesn't it? You just had a run-in with the Italians about a month ago."

" _Mais oui_ ," Poirot replied. "A very unhappy coincidence."

"There's something else," Japp said. "The tire of Captain Hastings' car was cut; it was not a puncture."

"Someone deliberately damaged the tire so that the captain would be forced to stop."

"Yes, and the damage was done on the inside of the tire, presumably so that no one would notice it until after he had driven away."

Poirot sighed, and said, "If this is related to our current case, I cannot say how."

Damn, I thought to myself. I would have to convince them that this was not related to the case, but I was not sure how to achieve this. I did not wish for either of them to investigate further because otherwise they might discover an inconsistence which might lead them to my real identity.

They waited for the doctor to leave, and then came to my side. Japp said, "You're looking a mite better, captain. I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could give me a description of your attacker."

I thought for a moment, and then said, "He was a blond fellow, blue eyes – I think – and a sort of nasally voice."

Japp glanced at Poirot, and then said, "Did he have an accent of any kind?"

"Yorkshire, I think," I replied. I hoped that there was no one of that description about. If Japp did happen across someone fitting that description, then I could just as easily say that he was not the same man. I did not wish to incriminate an innocent man.

"You're sure?" Japp asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

"Quite sure," I replied. "He asked me where I kept my money, and then proceeded to kick me when I told him that I didn't have anything."

Japp frowned and said, "But your wallet was still on your person."

Oh yes, I said to myself. How stupid of me. I did so hate lying, especially to my friends. "I don't know why he ignored my wallet. Perhaps he thought that I was carrying something more."

Poirot looked confused, and said as much. "That does not make any sense."

"Perhaps he was a lunatic?" Japp asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, and sighed.

 

After the war my movements were much less restricted. Poirot and I decided to travel now that we were able to do so. It had been a long time since I had visited Paris, but what I remembered was a vibrant and beautiful city. What I saw after the war was a damaged city filled with desperation and near hysterical desire to return to the old, carefree days.

My depression grew when I realized that my own city of Dresden was experiencing even a worse catastrophe. I wondered if I would ever be able to see her again.

At least Poirot was happy with our visit. He was delighted to be able to view the treasures – including the Mona Lisa – recently returned to their home in the Louvre Museum. We ate decadent food and visited all the sights. We even held hands in the Eiffel Tower.

It was in a little café where I met him, the Italian. Poirot must have heard my breath catch because he looked over at me. "Hastings?" he asked.

The Italian noticed me, and walked over.

I stood to address him. My rational self told me that I had nothing to fear. I was safe, the war was over, and we were in a public place. My heart sped up, however, and I would have run if so many people were not present to witness my panic.

"I have not thought about you in a long time," he said, nodding a greeting. "But I see that you remember me."

Poirot rose, and looked at us curiously.

"I do remember you," I replied, and then frowned at his laughter. I introduced Poirot, but was at a loss as to how to address our interloper.

He introduced himself, nodding politely at Poirot. "My name is Bernardo Moretti. I attempted to kill this man in a field in England."

Poirot's expression changed from one of friendly curiosity to one of hardened anger. He glanced at me, and I knew that I would have to explain later.

I motioned for us to be seated; I did not wish to attract any more attention than we had already. "Are you here on assignment?" I asked, regretting that I had no weapon on me.

Moretti laughed, and said, "No, no, I have long since retired." He pulled up one trouser cuff to show that he had a false leg. "A gift from the Americans," he added by way of explanation.

"Good heavens," I said softly, feeling some empathy for him.

He shook his head, and said, "Do not feel sorry for me – I lived an exciting life – but now it is time to live the good life, yes?"

"I suppose so," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee.

Poirot surprised me by speaking. "You said that you tried to kill my friend. Why?"

"I could say that it was an assignment, but I would be lying," he said. He glanced at me, and I could still see the remnants of bitter hatred. "Your German here killed my best friend."

"I intercepted papers that they were supposed to receive," I said, interrupting him. Poirot turned his gaze upon me, and I continued. "You remember them. They came to our room that night, and I shot one of them when he was about to attack you."

"Yes," Moretti said, "and if I thought I could get away with it, I would kill you right now." His voice and manner were pleasant, but his eyes showed the seriousness of his threat.

"It was nothing personal," I replied. "Espionage is dangerous. He had his duty to do, and he died while doing it."

"You already had the papers," he replied. "You did not have to shoot him."

I did not wish to argue about the matter further. We stared at each other; Poirot coughed delicately, and said, "But you will not kill him now."

"No," Moretti said. "The war is over. It is time to let the past die."

"I agree," I said, hating this man for bringing to the forefront of our trip my secret past.

"Perhaps you will be pleased to hear that I have taken care of his wife and two children. She was left a widow, and her children fatherless."

"That was decent of you," I replied, staring at the centerpiece.

Moretti nodded to us both, and departed.

After a moment of silence, Poirot said my name. He waited for me to look up at him before saying, "Shall we continue our walk, Hastings?"

We walked down the Seine at a lazy pace that suited my mood. We stopped at one of the bridges, and watched the boats sail up and down the river, some commercial vessels, others full of merriment-makers.

We returned to the hotel, intending to dress for dinner and a night at the opera. I was in no mood to enjoy a depressing opera, but Poirot had been looking forward to this performance for some time. I gazed out at the city, whose lights were slowly beginning to spark.

"Hastings?" Poirot asked, his hand on my back.

"I am sorry, Poirot," I said without turning around. "I am sorry that my actions continue to haunt our lives together."

Poirot shrugged, but I could see the unhappiness in his eyes. I was grateful, however, that he did not answer me with trite and clichéd responses, such as "it was not my fault" or "it is over now".

"I despise what you were, _mon ami_ , and I doubt that you will be able to escape your past actions." He took my shoulders, and turned me around so that I was facing him. "But I love you anyway."

I tried to smile at him, but it was a sham of a smile. "I love you, too. If I could – for you – I would go back and change my life."

"I know, _mon cher_ Arthur."

 

We returned from the opera that evening. Before I could relax, I checked our entire suite to ensure that there would be no surprises: no bugs or hidden assassins. Poirot watched in unhappy silence while I did so.

"I do not wish for my past actions to endanger you," I said by way of explanation.

Poirot nodded, and pulled me close to him. Outside we could hear music from one of the cafes and the throaty-voiced singer. We swayed to the music, our bodies merging with beautiful harmony.

I rested my cheek against the top of his head, and closed my eyes. Poirot began to sing softly, his voice untrained but sincere. I smiled, and sang along once I heard the chorus again.

Poirot eventually took the lead, and I followed. We moved past the furniture and toward the window where the music was clearer. He kissed me – a deep, passionate kiss – and I forgot all about Moretti and spies and war.

Our lips touched, our breaths mingled, and we continued to sway to the music.


End file.
